Thankful
by Noxbait
Summary: Set after 12.6, "Celebrating the life of Asa Fox." Sam wants a traditional Thanksgiving with their mom. Dean wants nothing to do with it and their mom apparently wants nothing to do with them. A hunt gone terribly wrong straightens out some priorities. Part 3 of 3. Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**_Good morning!_**

 ** _I can't believe this week is Thanksgiving! I really truly thought I had another week haha! :) I'm giving LOTS of thanks to my phenomenal beta, L.H. the Second for helping me out with this while we're both in the middle of NaNoWriMo. She's always so willing to help and give up her time to read through my stuff and clean up all my messes. :)_**

 ** _This little holiday special is three parts long. I'll post ch 2 on Tuesday, and ch 3 will be up Thursday morning, just in time for parades, turkey, football, and giving thanks!_**

 ** _Hope you will enjoy! :)_**

* * *

 _Set immediately following 12.06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox_

* * *

 _ **Thankful**_

 _Chapter One_

* * *

The drive home was quiet.

Six hours of quiet.

Six hours of quiet unbroken except for excruciatingly brief conversations.

 _Let me drive the rest of the way. -_ Sam, after they'd dropped Jody back off at her house and declined her offer to stay the night.

 _Yeah. Sure. Fine. Here._ \- Dean, handing the keys over, posture collapsed and defeated.

 _I'll get gas, you get coffee._ \- Dean, at exit 47.

 _Dean?_ \- Sam, as he drove through Silver Creek, Nebraska.

 _What?_ \- Dean, twenty-two miles later.

 _Never mind._ \- Sam.

They hadn't said another word the rest of the trip home.

* * *

They got home late and Sam disappeared without a word.

Dean couldn't blame him; he hadn't exactly encouraged conversation on the way home. Six hours of near-constant silence hadn't been pleasant, but he hadn't been in the mood to listen to Sam try to make excuses. To try to help him understand. To try to soothe his anger and disappointment and heartache.

She'd eaten breakfast with them, then they'd parted ways without any hint of when she might decide to drop back into their lives.

Shaking his head, Dean went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Jody had insisted on feeding them a late lunch, but other than some mini-mart snacks, they hadn't eaten anything since then. He stared into the fridge as he drank the beer, knowing he should be hungry.

He wasn't hungry, though. Hadn't been hungry at breakfast even though the bacon had been amazing. Hadn't been hungry at lunch even though Jody's home cooking never failed to please. He'd choked down the chips and candy Sam had tossed at him after a stop for gas earlier and couldn't think of a single thing he wanted to eat right now.

Shaking his head, he slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary. He leaned a hip against the counter and closed his eyes, thoughts traitorously drifting back to earlier.

 _Does this mean you're coming home?_ Sam had asked, and you had to be a special kind of stupid not to see the desperate hope in his eyes.

 _Yeah. Not quite yet. I just need a little more time._

Maybe she _was_ a special kind of stupid.

Or a special kind of selfish, Dean wasn't sure which. He shook his head, hand fisting against the counter as he replayed the scene over and over. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure her out. Sam kept trying to offer explanations. Justifications. Excuses. And so did she.

Dean didn't want to hear any of it.

He drained the rest of the beer and went for a second one.

Weariness weighed on him, edging out the anger. Taking the beer with him, he headed toward his room. Sam's door was open and he paused.

Sam must have been in the middle of unpacking his gear; it was scattered across his bed. Right now, though, he was staring down at a picture of their mother. After a few seconds, he glanced up and Dean hated that he kind of hated their mother. Sam had spent his entire life longing to know the woman and _this_ was he got?

She said she loved them, sure, but all she seemed to want to do was get as far away from them as possible.

"You alright?" Sam asked, breaking the silence and their twelve hour truce of not asking that question.

Dean shrugged, leaning against the doorframe.

Sam's smile was quick and sad. He was on the verge of saying something, but didn't. His gaze drifted to the floor.

"Get some sleep," Dean said, turning away before Sam could look at him again.

It was a cowardly move, but he didn't care. He couldn't handle even one more glimpse of the heartbreak. Sam had been trying hard to act like he was fine. Like he was ok with what she was doing. Like it wasn't killing him every time she walked away from them. But Dean could see it all too clearly and knew the truth.

It was killing both of them.

He finished the beer, then flopped down onto his bed. It seemed unlikely that he would be able to fall asleep, but he did.

When he woke up it was almost five in the morning and he was starving. Like eat an entire pizza starving. Like should have eaten last night starving.

With a groan, he pushed himself upright. Might as well start the day since he was already awake. After one of the quickest showers ever, he headed toward the kitchen. He passed his brother's bedroom and found the door was still open. A quick peek revealed his brother was sleeping soundly.

He didn't sleep soundly for long.

Ten minutes later, they were both sitting at the table and eating cold cereal because that was all they had.

"We need laundry soap," Sam muttered around a mouthful of corn flakes. "And food."

"I'm not the wife in this relationship." Dean wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. "You can do the grocery shopping this week."

Sam cleared his throat and Dean knew he wasn't going to like whatever he was about to say.

"So, uh...next week's Thanksgiving."

 _Yep, don't like it._

Dean shrugged, getting up to pour another cup of coffee.

"I was thinking we should give Mom a call-"

"No." Dean cut him off more harshly than he'd intended.

"Dean-"

"No. We've never done a traditional Thanksgiving. Never really done Thanksgiving at all. Why would we start now?" He purposefully kept his back turned so he wouldn't see Sam's reaction.

"We've never had our _Mom_ around before," Sam said quietly.

"She's not around now," Dean snapped. She'd rejected them more than once and he wasn't interested in being rejected again. "She's on a hunt."

"But she might-"

"She said she needed to hunt."

 _Thanks for breakfast,_ she'd said. _It was great to see you boys. I don't know when I'll be back down by you. I'm actually heading to Nevada. Looks like it's a haunting...No, thank you, though, but I've got this one. Take care of each other. I'll talk to you later._

Dean gritted his teeth, the memory of her words cutting into him nearly as badly as they'd done when she'd actually said them. Standing outside that diner in Manitoba. Just before she walked away from them. Again.

Breakfast had been...uncomfortable. They'd all been polite. Uncomfortably so. Admittedly, he'd been harboring a lot of anger and bitterness toward their mother at the time. Who was he kidding? He was _still_ harboring the anger and bitterness.

In a somewhat ironic turn of events, Sam had taken on role of mediator between Dean and their mom. It reminded Dean all too well of the role of mediator he'd once played between their dad and Sam. He hated it. Hated that their relationships with their parents were so complicated. It didn't seem fair.

"Dean. Are you listening to me?"

Well, no. He wasn't. Dean shook himself out of his thoughts and turned around. Sam was looking at him with that overly patient, heartfelt expression he wore far too often lately. Mostly when they were discussing their mom.

"I'm listening," Dean said, even though he hadn't been.

"And?"

"And we're gonna find a case."

Sam nodded. "Ok. Sure. Let's get a case. But Thanksgiving isn't until next week, so we could-"

"When you go to the store," Dean cut him off, "Baby needs windshield washer fluid."

Dean walked away without another word. Hopefully the topic wouldn't come up again.

* * *

Sam watched his brother walk away.

The conversation had gone as well as he'd expected it would. He sighed, staring at the bowl of soggy cereal in front of him. Why he'd thought this would be a good time to suggest a holiday family get together, he didn't know. Bringing up Thanksgiving right now had been a really dumb idea.

Resting his chin in one hand, he stirred the spoon through the cereal slop with other and wondered if complicated family relations was perhaps the most normal thing about them.

Sure, their mom had come back from the dead after thirty some years, but, other than that, maybe they weren't so special. He'd known kids from elementary all the way through college who had complicated relationships with their parents.

His and Dean's relationship with their own father had been complicated and he was beginning to think maybe things were _more_ complicated with their mom.

Standing up, he took his bowl to the sink and rinsed it out. Doing the dishes didn't distract him from the memories. Even now, weeks later, he could all too clearly picture Dean's expression that night when their mom had walked out of the bunker.

It had been a sucker punch for both of them. Yeah, there'd been signs that she'd been struggling, but even he hadn't expected her to choose to leave the way she had. It had hurt in a way nothing had ever hurt before. In that moment, he'd understood how Dean must have felt the day he'd left for Stanford. He'd seen the pain their mother's rejection had caused his brother.

Dean had been utterly crushed when she'd walked out the door.

The surprise reunion at Asa Fox's funeral had thrown all of them for a loop. Their mom had been surprised to see them; polite, but distant. Dean had been angry. Trying to control it, trying to hide it, but angry all the same.

Sam wasn't sure how he felt.

Turning off the faucet, he dried his hands on a towel and shoved everything to the back of his mind. He needed to focus. Figuring out the grocery list would be a quick, easy way to distract himself. Since there was still a week until Thanksgiving, he didn't have to stress himself out trying to come up with an appropriate meal. Right now, all he needed was to get them through.

He'd just finished making the list when his brother reappeared.

"Pack your crap," Dean said from the doorway. "Caught a case."

"That was fast." Sam looked up from the list, heart sinking.

"Fast. Yeah. As in the opposite of you making a grocery list."

It was a challenge, but Sam had just enough willpower to resist the lure. Or maybe he was just too tired. Either way, getting into an argument with his brother was the last thing he was interested in right now.

"Ok. What's the case?" he asked, setting the list aside and getting to his feet.

"Sounds ghoulish. You can figure it out on the way."

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall without another word.

Sam gritted his teeth.

Rushing into a case without knowing exactly what they were getting into was _always_ a bad idea. Another time, he might have tried to push for a little more research. A little more patience. But patience was a virtue completely absent from his brother at the moment.

"Hurry up!" Dean shouted from the other end of the hall, further demonstrating his lack of patience.

Sam shook his head and walked to his room.

He debated the merits of attempting to be the voice of reason, but didn't feel up to it at the moment. Dean needed a case. He needed to get busy and he needed a reason to not think about their mother. It was probably for the best. Sam would wait to put his foot down until it was absolutely necessary if it seemed Dean was rushing into anything. Better to be the voice of reason at that point than to make a big deal of things right now. The drive itself would probably help alleviate some more of Dean's tension anyway.

Maybe it would help clear his mind, too.

* * *

Thirty-seven hours after he'd found the hunt, Dean was lying on a cold, unforgiving cement floor trying his hardest not to pass out.

Things had been going smoothly. Sam, reluctant at first, had jumped on board and done some truly masterful research and planning and discovered it wasn't a ghoul, but a crocotta. They'd gone in well prepared and anticipated more than one crocotta, but had still been caught off guard by the viciousness of the fight.

The room was dimming and going in and out of focus while he struggled for breath. He wasn't getting up again. Not without help, anyway. He couldn't quite determine what was broken — his entire body was screaming in agony — but he knew things _were_ broken. The crocotta that had jumped him from behind had done a thorough job of beating him before he'd managed to find his knife and stab the monster through the spine.

Dean had stumbled two steps away then gone down hard.

Upstairs, he could hear another struggle going on and the only thing he could do was hope. Hope Sam was getting the upper hand. Hope he'd hurry up and take out the crocotta and get downstairs and get him to a hospital.

Because there was no question about it, he needed a hospital.

Dean bit his lip, drawing blood as he tried one last time to get to his hands and knees. Fiery pain blazed across his chest and up and down his spine, halting his movement. He was curled on his side and the position was hampering his breathing, but he couldn't move.

An inadvertent cry of pain broke through his wavering control as something deep inside him shifted. Gasping in shock, his breath a tight wheeze through constricted airways, heavy darkness fell over him and he didn't hurt anymore.

* * *

 _He's dead_ was Sam's initial thought when he ran around the corner and saw his brother, crumpled against the far wall.

Dean was on his side, hands lying limp in front of him, his knees drawn up toward his chest, face slack in unconsciousness.

"No. No, no, no." Sam ran across the room and skidded to his knees at his brother's side. "Dean!"

There was no blood, no sign of obvious injury. Maybe he'd just taken a knock to the head. Maybe it was as simple as that. Not that a concussion was anything good, but it was better than dead.

Shaking fingers pressed against clammy skin. Pulse rapid, unsteady, fluttering under his fingertips. Now that he was closer, and some of the initial haze of pure panic had faded, he could hear Dean's labored breaths; wheezing and uneven. This was more than a concussion. This was something far more serious.

"Dean," Sam whispered, running a hand over his brother's head.

No blood, no noticeable skull fractures. A fast assessment revealed several ribs that were broken, though, which explained why Dean's breathing sounded so terrible. Tugging his jacket and shirts up, Sam discovered frightening mottling and bruising all across Dean's chest.

He needed a hospital.

"Dean. Hey, Dean," he called, more loudly. "Need you to wake up."

It took only a moment before Dean began to stir.

Holding Dean's shoulder, Sam coached, "Take it slow, man, you're busted up pretty good."

Dean groaned softly, like he didn't have enough strength to do anything more.

"I know." Sam watched his brother's face screw up in pain. "Gonna get you to a hospital. Get you taken care of right away."

"Sam?"

"Yes."

Dean's eyes slid opened and they were glazed, pupils uneven. Concussion. Great.

"Y'ok?" Dean mumbled, his hands fisting as his breathing rate sped up and he tried to move.

"I'm ok. Hey, take it slow. Slow movements, slow." Sam steadied his brother. "Let me help."

Dean grimaced and allowed Sam to do most of the work to get him sitting up. He wilted forward, head hitting Sam's shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around his chest as he groaned deep in his throat, then sucked in a stridorous breath.

Sam swallowed back the fear and said, "I've got you."

Nodding against Sam's shoulder, Dean whispered, "Get me up."

There was a foreboding sense of urgency in his tone. Dean knew how badly he was hurt. Knew it and was all but telling Sam this was urgent. That he needed medical attention right away.

"Ok. Let me do the work," Sam coached, moving from his knees to a crouch. "Watch your ribs."

"Hmm."

Getting him to his feet wasn't easy and left Sam wondering if it wouldn't have been wiser to call an ambulance. Dean was almost continually moaning, the wheezing sounding worse by the second.

And they still had to get to the car.

Dean wasn't able to lift his arm high enough to get it over Sam's shoulders, so instead Sam was dragging him along mostly by a tight grip on his belt and a cautious, steadying hand under his elbow. They walked slowly, pausing every few feet for Dean to catch his ever shortening breath.

It seemed like an hour passed before they reached the Impala. Sam settled his brother into the passenger seat, fear filling him at the pallor of Dean's face, the way his lips were tinged blue. He slammed the door and ran to the drivers side.

"Just keep breathing," Sam said, starting the car with another glance at his brother.

"Tryin'." Dean was huddled against the door, arms braced around himself.

"Good."

After that, silence fell between them. Dean concentrated on breathing and Sam concentrated on the road. A few miles passed and Dean seemed to recover a bit. Even started insisting he was fine and didn't need a hospital. The argument was short; Sam told him to shut up. Dean shut up. For a few minutes.

"Sam. Just go back to the motel," Dean said, his voice strained.

"No. You're busted up bad."

"I've had broken ribs before." Dean shifted, hand pressed to his chest. He went another shade paler with the movement.

"I don't care. We already had this argument and I'm not having it again. This is bad. You've got some serious bruising going on and an ice pack and a beer isn't going to take care of internal bleeding."

Dean waved a hand dismissively. He didn't try to talk again the rest of the trip to the hospital. Just sat there, arms wrapped around his chest, trying not to look like it was getting more and more difficult to draw a breath.

Sam pushed far past the speed limit and got them to the hospital in half the time it should have taken them.

The parking lot was full and so was the waiting room. Sam guided his brother to a chair, alarmed at how easily Dean followed his lead. Once his brother was settled, Sam hurried through the crowded room to register.

"How long?" Dean asked when he returned from checking him in.

"Hour or two."

Sam studied his brother. He looked twice as awful as he had just a moment ago. Sweating, Dean was hunched forward, arms still wrapped around his chest and his face ashen. Each breath was strained and rapid. Dean closed his eyes, sucking in one harsh breath after another. A minute later and he started coughing in between struggling for breath.

"I'm gonna go talk to the nurse," Sam said, glancing from his brother to the reception desk. "You need to be seen right now."

Dean nodded, coughing again, his eyes squeezed tight.

Sam started to get to his feet, but before he could, his brother cried out in pain and Sam's heart jumped into his throat. Dean's eyes went wide and he grabbed for Sam, catching his arm and squeezing hard. His skin was going grey and there was nothing but fear in his gaze.

"I need some help!" Sam yelled, startling the people sitting nearby.

He vaguely heard people shouting for help, but his attention was on his brother. One hand on Dean's shoulder to stabilize him, Sam rested his other hand against the side of his face, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Stay with me," he said, reining in his own fear. "Hey, come on. Focus on me. Focus. Slow breaths. I know it hurts."

Dean rolled his eyes and managed a bitchy glare despite the fact his lips were turning blue.

"Sorry. Just...stay with me. Hey, Dean? Hey, stay with me. Don't… no, no, come on." Heart pounding in his chest, he caught his brother as he slumped forward. "Dean!"

He fumbled for a pulse just as someone appeared at his side, pushing him aside.

Moving unwillingly, Sam held his brother up as a nurse assessed him, then started shouting. He tried to follow what was being said, but the words turned to a dull buzz and made no sense. Everything around him was moving at lightspeed but he seemed stuck in slow motion. Questions were thrown his way and he answered them as best as he could, while never taking his eyes off his brother.

The move from the waiting room to the treatment room was a blur.

He tried to stay close, tried to make sure Dean knew he was still with him. The staff were understanding and only had him step back a few times while they worked. A diagnosis of pneumothorax and multiple broken ribs was called out after a chest x-ray. Given the beating Dean had taken, a collapsed lung had been a worry in the back of Sam's mind all along. Even so, the diagnosis hit him like a brick as he comprehended how close he could have come to losing his brother.

The doctor had to insert a chest tube and at that point the room started getting a little dark and warm. One of the nurses approached him and offered a chair. Knees weak, Sam accepted the offer.

Dean was pretty much out of it; awake but not alert. His breathing was still rough, but with the oxygen, he wasn't struggling as much as he'd been before. He was mumbling questions, his glazed eyes looking around the room, trying to sort out what was happening. Sam explained as best as he could but knew Dean wasn't fully grasping anything he said.

Just talking to him, though, seemed to help calm him, so Sam kept it up. He had a general idea of what was going on, so he gave his brother a play by play.

After a few minutes, though, Dean shot him an annoyed glare. Sam took the hint and shut up.

"Sam." Dean waved his hand in a frantic gesture a few minutes later.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, leaning forward.

Dean waved his hand again. His voice was muffled through the oxygen mask as he said, "Tell me...what's happening."

"Thought you were telling me to shut up."

"If I want you to shut up," Dean said, laboring for each breath, "then I'll tell you to shut up."

"Well, I'm telling _you_ to shut up right now." Sam shook his head, watching the numbers on the oxygen monitor dip with Dean's unsteady breaths. "Concentrate on your breathing not your bitching."

Dean glared at him, then broke into a coughing fit. His arms tightened around his chest and Sam had to reach out and nudge his hand away from the area where the doctor had inserted the chest tube. He started another round of steady encouragement knowing that Dean was verging on a panic attack.

"Coughing's good, man," Sam coached, hand on Dean's shoulder. "But how bout you don't cough up a lung. You're already down one."

That quip earned him another glare, but it accomplished what he'd wanted it to. Some of the panic had faded from Dean's eyes and he was working to control his breathing. Sam smiled even though he didn't like the way Dean was still fighting for each breath. Under his hand, Dean's shoulder was tight and even his neck muscles were strained. He was wheezing and, in between each struggling breath, moaning in pain.

Sam grimaced, knowing exactly what it felt like to cough hard with broken ribs and a head injury.

The coughing jag raised more than just Sam's concern. A nurse appeared at the other side of the bed, coaching Dean and making adjustments. She checked the site of the chest tube and apparently found it was in correct position. The oxygen level dipped but rose again slowly. She adjusted the monitor and turned down the screaming alarm that he hadn't even noticed until now. The nurse was talking to both of them and Sam tried to pay attention but probably got about as much out of the conversation as his brother did.

By the time the fit had ended, Dean was slack against the pile of pillows. His breathing was a little less strained although he was still wheezing. Sweat dripped down his ashen face and intermittent coughs shook him. His hands were no longer fisted but resting against the sheets as limp as the rest of him.

The nurse softly offered some reassurances and instructions then left the room. Reassurances and instructions that did no real good because Sam hadn't been able to focus on them at all. She'd left the room without rushing, so at least he knew Dean wasn't in any real danger.

Heart in his throat, Sam tried to regulate his own breathing. He sat back in the chair, pressing his hands to his face for a few seconds and taking a deep breath. Lowering his hands, he looked at his brother again to remind himself that he was alive. Badly injured, but alive.

Dean's eyes slitted open and he tilted his head slightly but didn't say anything. Obviously breathing was taking all of his energy. The sounds of his breathing and the beeping of the IV pump in the background filled the small room. Sam didn't break the near silence. What was there to say?

This time, Dean didn't seem to need conversation to keep him grounded. He just held Sam's gaze for a few more minutes before his eyes slid closed again. Sam watched him for a moment, then slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. He counted each breath his brother took as thoughts of complications raced through his mind.

 _Pneumonia._

 _Internal bleeding._

 _Sepsis._

He shook his head, not looking up. They were in the hospital and Dean was being monitored for stuff like that.

 _He'll be fine._

For the next hour, Sam had to remind himself of that over and over as Dean's condition went up and down. The stretches of quiet reprieve always seemed shorter than the moments when Dean was coughing and gasping and trying to hide how much he was hurting. His oxygen levels fluctuated wildly and it was decided he was unstable enough to warrant monitoring in the ICU.

Dean was struggling enough that he wasn't paying any attention to anything around him. He was oblivious to the change in scenery; fading in and out of a light sleep. For a little while, things seemed to calm down after they were settled in the ICU.

It was ten till three in the morning when Dean's condition took a nosedive.

He'd never been stable, not really, but now he was a whole lot worse. The change had been subtle, the symptoms worsening gradually over the past few hours, but it was still terrifying to watch. The nurse hadn't left the room for the past hour and the doctor had been in more than he'd been out which was never a good sign.

Sam had watched the activity from the chair next to his brother's bed.

For nearly thirty minutes, he had to sit there watching helplessly as his brother struggled to breathe and the medical staff fought to save his life. Respiratory therapy was a near constant presence in the room; administering nebulized medications and adjusting the oxygen levels.

The nurse was great about telling him what was going on, but it didn't take away all the fear.

Dean was in and out the entire time, too focused on merely breathing to pay very much attention to anything going on around him. He didn't have enough breath to speak, but seemed to calm when Sam spoke to him.

It was after four when things calmed down and Dean finally fell asleep, his breathing at last easing.

Sam sought out the coffee dispenser as soon as Dean was resting quietly. A few cups of coffee over the course of the next few hours kept him alert enough to pay attention to what the nurses told him. Kept him alert enough to help calm his brother when he woke up disoriented and in pain, struggling to breathe and unable to remember what had happened.

By six am, Sam's hands were shaking and he was sick to his stomach. He waited until a nurse was in doing an assessment, then found his way to the cafeteria and forced himself to eat something. While he ate, he stared at his phone and contemplated calling their mom. He was sure Dean would tell him not to, but Dean wasn't the one whose brother was in the ICU with a concussion and a collapsed lung.

The little cornucopia and pumpkin decorations on the table reminded him that, just a day ago, he'd still been contemplating calling her to see if he could arrange some kind of Thanksgiving get together. A traditional Thanksgiving dinner seemed very unimportant right now. He shook his head, remembering his foolish hope that they could have celebrated a holiday with their Mom. All he hoped for now was that Dean would pull through. Him being alive would be the best reason for giving thanks that Sam could ever imagine.

After staring at his phone for another minute or two, Sam called.

He got their mom's voicemail and almost hung up. It reminded him of sitting in another hospital a very long time ago and trying to get ahold of their dad. Years had passed, but the sting hadn't faded. Dad had _never_ called back despite the fact Dean was in the hospital dying after a heart attack. Why would this be any different?

He left a generic message. Something about just checking in and wondering how her case was going. Hanging up the phone, he felt like an idiot.

Throwing out half of his breakfast, he went back to the ICU and found his brother had faded back to sleep after the nurse's assessment. Sitting down, he glanced at his phone every five minutes until he was tempted to chuck it against the far wall.

 _Of course she's not going to call back. Why would she? She's on a hunt for one thing. For another thing, she obviously wanted space. She doesn't want to be part of our lives right now; maybe ever. I shouldn't have called._

The sun was bright around the closed curtains by the time he'd stopped berating himself for calling Mary.

He called Jody.

He got her voicemail, too. While he listened to the message, he debated what he was going to say. Why exactly was he calling her anyway?

They'd been in plenty of bad situations like this before, why was this the time he was calling people? Dean wasn't dying. He'd been assured of that several times over which made him wonder how concerned he looked if people kept telling him Dean wasn't dying.

A beep announced that it was time for him to leave his message.

"Hey, Jody. It's Sam. Uh...just wanted to see how things are going. We...we were on a hunt. So. Yeah. Anyway. Ok. Talk to you later."

He hung up and again debated throwing his phone against the wall. Why had he bothered to call her if he was going to leave a message like that? _Idiot._ Even so, leaving a stupid nonsensical message was better than leaving one like he'd left for Dad all those years ago.

 _Hey, Dad. It's Sam. Uh...you probably won't even get this, but, uh...it's Dean. He's sick, and uh...the doctors say there's nothing they can do. Um...but, uh, they don't know the things we know, right? So, don't worry, cause I'm uh...gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright...just wanted you to know._

A message that he never got a response to. Even when their dad had met up with them again, he'd never said a word about the message or the fact Dean had nearly died.

Maybe leaving a stupid, nonsensical message wasn't so stupid or nonsensical after all. It was better than getting ignored or rejected.

"Sam?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Dean's voice. "Hey, how're you doing?"

"I'm in a freakin ICU," Dean muttered, voice still muffled behind the oxygen mask. "How you think I'm doin'?"

Sam smiled at the familiar snark in his brother's tone. He pocketed his phone and said, "Pretty crappy."

"Pretty crappy." Dean nodded, left hand moving to rest against his ribs while his right hand fumbled up to mess with the oxygen mask.

"Leave that alone."

Dean glared at him.

"Seriously, though. You feel any better?"

"Ribs are still broken. Still down a lung. Worst headache of my life." His words were punctuated with short, pained breaths. "What do you think?"

"I think you're whining. Worst headache, really?" Sam teased even though his heart did a few flip flops at Dean's honest admission.

Dean just waved his hand dismissively and looked around the room. After a minute, he glanced back and asked, "You ok?"

Sam nodded.

"The crocotta didn't-"

"Didn't touch me," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

"You eat anything... or just been…. drinking coffee... all night?" He was huffing and puffing by the time he finished the question.

"I ate breakfast." Sam leaned forward. "How about you stop talking so much, ok?"

Dean nodded, closing his eyes. Sam relaxed, hoping his brother was going to fall back to sleep and get a little more rest.

"Don't call Mom," Dean mumbled, opening his eyes only for a split second.

Swallowing hard, Sam nodded. "Yeah. Ok."

 _She didn't even answer. Probably won't ever call back anyway. No reason to tell him._

Sam watched his brother fall asleep again and settled in for a very long day.

 _ **to be continued...**_

* * *

 _ **Thank you for reading! See you on Tuesday!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Tuesday! So glad everyone enjoyed chapter 1. I'm _thankful_ for each and every one of you who take the time to read my stories. I'm also thankful for all the kind reviews! :) You guys are the best!**

 **I got my 50,000 words for NaNo Sunday night and you may be happy to know that every single one of them was SPN fanfiction lol. ...really was supposed to be focusing on my novel but hey, it's only November 20th, I've got a few more days I can churn out some novel content. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Thankful**_

 _Chapter Two_

* * *

The second morning in the hospital, Dean woke up to the sound of a conversation.

For a moment, he kept his eyes closed and listened. They were standing just outside the door to his room. Sam and a nurse. They were having what sounded like a very friendly conversation. Dean almost smiled, but didn't want to break his cover yet while he was eavesdropping. He strained to hear what they were saying beyond the monitors beeping and whirring around him.

It was pointless though. They were being too thoughtful and too quiet. He forced one eye open, discovering it was more difficult than he'd expected. The room was too bright but he didn't have a clue what time it was.

Blinking a few times to clear the fog, he managed to visualize the too white ceiling. Why every hospital decided their ceilings should be blindingly white, he would never understand.

 _I'm barely alive and getting my retinas blasted out of my head is very therapeutic, thanks._

He closed his eyes for a few more minutes as the hushed conversation died off. Sensing movement to his left, he cleared his throat and asked, "Struck out, huh?"

"I did actually," a female voice said.

He hadn't expected that. He blinked a few dozen times until he brought the face next to him into focus. A nurse was grinning at him, her hair as dark as her eyes. Her smile was as beautiful as she was.

"Such a shame," she continued. "He wasn't half bad looking."

Dean wasn't sure if he should be amused or offended on his brother's behalf for her mediocre review.

He smiled back.

"I can get you his number," he said, short of breath already, "or I can give you mine. He snoozes, he loses."

She tilted her head, assessing, then said, "I don't date patients."

"But you'd date their brother?"

"I tried." She laughed.

"Where'd the heartthrob go, anyway?" Dean tried to get a glimpse out of the room, but didn't have the strength to sit up.

"He was going for what must be his fifth cup of coffee."

"Only five cups? That's nothing."

"Five cups since I started my shift," the nurse clarified, "Three hours ago."

Dean nodded. That sounded more like it.

"I'm Clarice, by the way, and trust me, I've heard all of the _Silence of the Lambs_ references."

"Shame. I had a really great one." Dean pressed his hand to his ribs and coughed. Once he was finished coughing, he asked, "You're my nurse?"

"Have been for three hours." She smiled. "This is the first you've been alert enough to even know I'm here. Enough to give a girl a complex."

"Guess I'm the one snoozin' and losin'."

"That you are. So. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Not great. Not dead."

"That's good. I prefer to keep my patients that way. Management frowns on dead patients."

"I'll try to make your job easy." Dean clenched his jaw when pain spiked along his chest.

"What would you rate your pain at right now, Dean?" Clarice asked, logging into the computer.

"Six." Any number would do. Pain scales were so pointless. He cleared his throat and added, "Don't feel like I've got a sword running through my chest anymore. That's something, anyway."

Clarice nodded and said something about changing from IV painkillers to pills now that he was doing a little better. Dean didn't care very much about the type of painkiller, so long as he kept getting them. Things were going to go downhill, of course, he knew that already. If he was still in this much pain on the good stuff, there was no way the pills were going to do much. At least getting off the IV meds would mean he was one step closer to getting out of the hospital.

He suffered through a detailed, exhausting assessment that left him sweat-soaked and struggling to breathe. Clarice had adjusted some settings and switched out the mask for a nasal cannula. He had mixed feelings on that topic, but got no say in the matter; just a promise that the nurse would be monitoring his oxygen levels.

"Alright, Dean," Clarice said as she finished checking over the chest tube. "Everything looks good."

Dean gave her a thumbs up but didn't comment because nothing _felt_ good.

"With any luck, you'll be out of here in time for Thanksgiving." She smiled and asked, "Do you and your brother have plans?"

"No. No plans." He shook his head, then politely asked about hers.

They chatted for a moment longer before she left to see her next patient.

Dean was left staring after her and wondering what it said about him that he'd almost rather be sitting in a hospital than facing Thanksgiving dinner with his mom. And then he couldn't help but think about how much Sam had actually wanted that dinner to happen. Now, because Dean had pushed them into a hunt, Sam not only wasn't going to get the family Thanksgiving he'd hoped for, but was also very likely going to end up spending the day sitting around in a hospital or a lousy motel room. At least if they'd been home, Dean could have made some turkey and potatoes.

Shifting uncomfortably, Dean braced his hand on his chest and tried to find a better position while he mentally berated himself.

Sam walked back in while he was still trying to catch his breath.

"Hey, hey, you ok?"

 _Here we go…_ Dean steeled himself for a whole lot of worrying. He waved his hand and managed to rasp out, "Yeah."

"What happened to the mask?" Sam motioned to his face. Taking a seat next to the bed, he set a cup of coffee on the bedside table and his gaze shifted to the numbers on the monitor. "You graduate?"

"Yes."

Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean glanced at the numbers too. His oxygen level was low, but not setting off any alarms, so that counted for something. Their eyes met again as they mutually assessed each other. Even without a mirror, Dean knew he had to look crappy because he _felt_ crappy. Sam looked a little better than Dean had expected him to.

"How's the pain?" Sam asked, reaching for his coffee cup.

"Better. How come you turned Clarice down?"

"What?" Sam choked on a sip of coffee.

Dean grinned even though he was breathless. "Clarice. She said...you wouldn't...give her-"

"I didn't give her my number."

"Yeah. Why?"

"Seriously?" Sam shook his head. "Dean, you have a tube in your chest so you don't drown in your own blood. You can barely speak and you have three broken ribs and a severe concussion. Why on earth would I give a nurse my number?"

"Because she's hot and she wanted it." Dean shrugged, grimacing and wrapping his arm around his chest. Sam remained in stony silence, so once he'd recovered his breath, he said, "Just 'cuz I'm stuck here doesn't mean you have to sit there cowering over me like a freaking gargoyle. You could be out with Clarice tonight getting a little _healing_ of your own."

Sam's eyebrows rose and he sputtered, "There's...there's just so much _wrong_ with...everything you said."

"Whatever. I'm too tired to argue with you." Dean sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes, the pressure in his side from the chest tube bothering him more and more.

He heard his brother sigh, but didn't open his eyes. There were questions he wanted to ask his brother, but he was too tired and out of breath to bother. He could feel his brother's concerned gaze and fell asleep knowing he was as safe as he ever could be.

* * *

The alarm on Sam's phone went off at quarter to five.

It had been four days since they'd walked into the emergency room. After three nights sleeping in the recliner next to Dean's bed, he'd been forcibly booted out of the room last night. Dean had finally been feeling well enough to bully him into getting a motel room. Well, he'd been bullying him all along, but _Sam_ had finally decided Dean seemed to be doing well enough _to_ be left alone.

After the lousy night's sleep he'd just gotten, though, he would've been further ahead to have slept at the hospital.

Sam had been awake since three, so he immediately got up and silenced the alarm. Taking a quick shower, he had everything packed up and was out the door in less than twenty minutes. Leaving behind the smelly room, the uneven mattress, and the strong suspicion the room was inhabited by a family of mice, Sam drove to the nearest coffee shop to fuel up for the day ahead.

He'd been too cheap to bother to find a better motel last night, but Sam had already picked out a nice hotel for them to stay in tonight. There was no way he was going to take any chances with his brother's health right now. A trashy, mouse-infested room with an uncomfortable bed was _not_ what Dean needed. He wasn't happy about being stuck in a hotel room rather than pushing forward and going home, but Sam didn't care. Dean had already lost that argument. He'd surrendered pretty easily, actually, which told Sam how much he wasn't ready to make the drive back to the Bunker yet.

Once he'd picked up his extra large, extra caffeinated coffee, he headed for the hospital. It had been a long week for both of them. Dean was definitely ready to get out of the hospital, but had still been too ill yesterday for the doctors to sign off on his release. Barring any last minute complications, though, he'd hopefully be released later this morning.

At a stop light, Sam took a sip of his coffee, thoughts wandering to his phone and the lack of messages on it. In all honesty, he wasn't surprised not to have heard from his mom, but was a bit surprised that Jody had never called him back. She was probably just busy. He tried not to allow the lack of response to bother him.

He made it to the hospital by five-thirty, which of course was several hours earlier than he needed to be there. It had been pointless to stay at the motel any longer, though. He'd been too worried to sleep much and the uncomfortable bed hadn't helped at all. Dean would be annoyed, but Sam didn't care. Dean had almost died so he didn't get to be annoyed with Sam's decisions.

Taking the elevator up to the fourth floor, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, hands wrapped around the coffee cup. Why hospitals were always so cold, he would never understand. The doors slid open a few seconds later and he stepped out into the quiet, dimly lit hallway of the general medical-surgical unit. It had been a relief for both of them when Dean had been moved from the ICU.

He nodded to one of the night shift nurses and headed to his brother's room. The lights were off in the room and the room was quiet. It was a nice change from the constant beeping of monitors and bubbling of the chest tube they'd grown somewhat accustomed to in the ICU. Dean had been moved from the ICU yesterday after the chest tube had been removed and had been off oxygen for the last day and a half.

Sitting down in the chair he'd practically been living in the past few days, Sam studied his brother in the dim light. He was sleeping soundly, looked comfortable, and was breathing easily. Even though he hadn't really expected otherwise, it was a relief all the same. The past few days had been a strain on both of them in different ways and he was definitely feeling it. He was tired, of course, but also sore from so much time spent in the uncomfortable chair.

Dean had suggested more than once that he just leave. Go for a walk. Go for a run. Get some air. And he had. Occasionally. A few times. For short periods. He'd never been able to leave for very long, though, especially when Dean's condition had been so unstable.

Oh well. They could spend the next few days recuperating and taking lots of painkillers. The important thing was that Dean was _alive._

Taking a slow, shaky breath, Sam set his coffee on the bedside table. He should have dragged his feet more about taking the case. Should have argued against it even if it took an all out verbal battle to dissuade Dean from deciding they needed to take the stupid case in the first place. Despite the fact they _had_ taken plenty of time to research and plan for the hunt ahead of time, things had still gone downhill rapidly and Dean had been the one to pay the heavy price this time.

"How long you been here?"

Sam looked up. Dean was staring at him; his eyes barely open. Even so, it was clear he wasn't happy.

"Not long." Sam shrugged.

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Time's it?"

"Going on six."

"You do know the doctors take forever making rounds. I'm not getting out of here before noon probably," Dean grumbled. "You could've slept in."

"How're you feeling?"

"Like I wanna get out of here." He took a cautious breath, hand braced against his chest. "Sick of this place."

"I know."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Dean asked, "You didn't sleep, did you?"

"I did. A little." He sat back in the chair and blew out a slow breath. "Hasn't been a good week."

"Tell me about it." Dean smiled.

The next few hours passed in what had become their routine over the course of their stay. Nursing assessment, breakfast, medication rounds, physical therapy, coughing and deep breathing exercises. In between, they napped. At least Dean napped. Sam's mind was still racing.

By the time the doctor had made his rounds and signed off on the discharge, Dean was pacing like a caged animal and his disposition had soured. He was grumpy, snippy, over tired and in pain. A truly wonderful combination.

They got to the hotel barely on speaking terms and had a shouting match that left Dean breathless within the first ten minutes of settling into the room. Dean had slammed the bathroom door and coughed and cursed. Sam had done a lot of cursing, too. It wasn't the way he'd envisioned things going although he really should have known things weren't going to go smoothly.

Once Dean had calmed down and reined in his coughing _and_ his cursing, he'd come out looking contrite and a little worse for wear. The argument - whatever it had been about in the first place - was forgotten and Dean had allowed his assistance getting to the bed. They'd settled on some old Humphrey Bogart movie and both fallen asleep not long after the credits.

They might have slept all afternoon, but Sam's phone rang and interrupted their nap.

Dean groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head. He muffled a few coughs, then went silent when Sam answered the call.

"Jody? Hey, how-" Sam asked, but was cut off before he could continue which was just as well because his brain wasn't really fully awake yet and he had no clue what he was planning to say.

" _Sam, is everything alright_?" Jody sounded concerned.

"Yeah. Fine...uh-"

" _Because you sounded terrible when you left that message. Alex and I went up to the cabin for a little vacation the past few days and I didn't have signal._ "

"Oh...uh, yeah. No problem. It's not-"

" _What happened_?"

"Nothing," Sam said, knowing Dean was listening to every word.

" _Don't even try that with me, Sam Winchester. I know something's up. Are you alright?_ "

"Yes."

Dean had unburied himself from under his blanket and was glaring. He mouthed _did you call her?_

Sam glared back and didn't answer, trying to listen to Jody.

" _Is everything alright with your mom?_ " Jody asked, still trying to get to the bottom of things.

"Yes, she's fine."

 _Did you tell her what happened?_ Dean mouthed, pushing himself upright against the pillows.

Sam shook his head, but still received a dark, suspicious look from his brother.

" _Are you listening to me?_ " Jody prompted.

"Sorry, sorry. Yes. I'm here, Jody."

" _What. Happened?_ "

Dean shot him a threatening glance which Sam ignored. "Rough hunt."

Whatever Dean mouthed next was clearly rude and Sam turned his back on him as Jody asked, " _How rough?_ "

"Dean just got out of the hospital." Sam didn't have to look to know Dean was not happy with him. _Oh well._

" _What? Sam, what happened? What can I do?_ "

"Jody, it's ok. Really. He's alright now." He gave a quick version of what had happened, sharing more detail than Dean probably would have wanted. "We're just going to take it easy the next few days."

 _"I'm glad to hear that. Where are you boys? Do you need me to come and-_ "

"No, no, we're fine. Really."

" _You two would say that even if you were missing limbs._ "

Sam smiled. "Maybe so, but seriously, we're ok."

" _Alright, but I need a promise that you'll call me if you need something or if you change your mind._ "

"I promise."

" _Ok. Now let me talk to your brother._ "

"He's a little grumpy," Sam said, turning around in time to catch the latest glare Dean leveled at him. Grinning, he held out the phone. "Jody wants to talk to you."

"I hate you so much," Dean muttered, holding out a hand for the phone. "Jody, hey."

Sam sat down across from his brother watching with no small sense of amusement as Jody dominated the conversation.

"Better... Yeah... Don't listen to the drama queen, I wasn't dying." Dean shook his head, still glaring at Sam. "I just got out of the hospital, of course I sound tired."

Sam yawned, thinking about how tired _he_ was. They both needed sleep. He zoned out a little as Dean and Jody talked. It was the sound of his brother coughing that drew him back to the present. Straightening, he held his hand out for the phone. Dean managed to say a quick goodbye to Jody before he went back to coughing.

Handing him a bottle of water, Sam put the phone to his ear and said, "Hey, Jody."

" _Is he alright? He sounds terrible, Sam._ "

"He's...getting there," Sam said, holding his breath as Dean fought to catch his.

" _How bad was he, really?_ "

"Bad enough." He didn't want to think about exactly how bad it had been.

Dean finally stopped coughing and wilted back against the pillows. Grabbing the bottle before it tipped over and spilled all over the bed, Sam set it on the bedside table and watched his brother for a moment. He settled, looking utterly wiped out, his breathing strained, but better than it had been.

" _You'd tell me if you needed some help, right?_ " Jody asked, interrupting his assessment.

"Yeah. I would," he said softly, crossing the room and taking a seat at the table. "He's feeling crummy and has a ways to go before he's back on his feet, but he's going to be ok."

Jody sighed, but said, " _Ok, Sam. But if you need me, I'm only a phone call away, alright? I won't be out of cell range this time. Promise._ "

"Thanks, Jody." Sam smiled, glancing at his brother. "We appreciate it."

" _Take care of yourself, too, ok? You're not going to be able to take care of your brother if you're too tired to function._ "

"I know."

" _Ok. Both of you get some sleep._ "

"You're not going to get any arguments out of us," Sam said softly. "Dean's already asleep."

" _Good. Call me at least once a day. Now get off the phone and get some sleep._ "

He smiled at her loving, if bossy, order and said goodbye. Setting the phone down, he rubbed his eyes and debated what he should do next. Despite his promise to Jody, it seemed like there was something more important he should be doing rather than just taking a nap. After twenty seconds, he decided if there was something more important, it would have to wait.

Crawling onto the second bed, he glanced at his brother and satisfied himself that Dean was sleeping comfortably. Wrapping his arms around a pillow, he was almost asleep before his eyes were even closed. Just before he fell asleep, he remembered that tomorrow was Thanksgiving.

Should probably do something about that, his fatigued mind suggested.

 _Maybe later,_ he answered, falling into the best sleep he'd had since Dean had been injured.

* * *

"I will leave you here. Right here," Dean stabbed a finger against the ugly comforter. "I will get in the car and I will leave you here."

"Dean-"

"I am not kidding," Dean said, his voice raspy and weak despite the boiling-over annoyance he had lost the battle to contain. "Get out of my face."

Sam held up his hands and didn't say whatever he'd been about to which was probably best for both of them. He looked suitably chastised and seemed to fade into the background of the room. Dean probably should feel bad about being such a jerk, but he didn't. He'd taken more well-intentioned brothering than he could deal with in one sitting.

Not that Sam hadn't already been an overbearing worrywort, but since they'd awakened from their nap, he had gone into extreme mode. Sure, it had been Dean's pained, desperate gasping following a surprise coughing spell that had yanked both of them from their sleep. Yeah, maybe Sam had a decent reason to be worried, but it didn't stop Dean from feeling ready to wring his neck.

Refusing to look at his brother because he wasn't in the mood to try to be nice to the obnoxious puppy he'd just kicked, Dean glared at the tv and pressed his fist against his side. Thanks to Sam's overly anxious attention to detail, he was being given all of his pills on a meticulous schedule. Despite the painkillers, he hurt. Despite the nap, he was exhausted.

Dean tried to keep his breathing even in the hopes of avoiding yet another coughing jag. He was bleary eyed and groggy and had no clue what was on the tv, but stared at it like he was absolutely engrossed. The bed wasn't his, but it was relatively comfortable and the room was nice. Didn't mean he liked being here. He wanted to be home but Sam hadn't even had to argue with him about staying. The trip from the hospital had proven how debilitated he still was. All he could hope was that tomorrow he'd be up for the trip home.

Despite his best effort, his gaze wandered to his brother.

Sam had the laptop open and was pretending he was completely engrossed in whatever he was looking at just like Dean was pretending he cared about whatever was on tv.

And, just like expected, a wave of guilt swept over him. He should have kept his mouth shut. Sam meant well and wasn't doing anything Dean himself wouldn't be doing if Sam was the one who'd just had his chest caved in. He blew out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

The right thing to do would be to apologize. Maybe even ask his brother how he was feeling. From what Dean could see, Sam was a wreck. Instead of an apology, though, he chose a different option. One that would give both of them an out while hopefully conveying the apology he couldn't quite say aloud.

"Go get something to eat."

Sam looked up with a frown and asked, "Are you hungry?"

"It's like two in the afternoon. Last thing I ate was a crappy hospital breakfast. Of course I'm hungry."

The sarcastic comment earned him a brief smile. Pushing himself up from the chair, Sam said, "What do you want?"

"I dunno." He really didn't because he really wasn't hungry. Sam needed to eat, though, and they both needed a break from each other. "Just bring back whatever looks good."

He waited for Sam to argue against leaving, but he didn't.

Sam nodded, and asked, "You got your phone?"

"Yes. Right in my hand. Where it's been all. Day. Long." Waving the phone, he tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but couldn't quite manage it.

Sam just nodded, though, and headed for the door without another word.

Dean opened his mouth to say...something, but Sam was gone before he could.

He heard the click of the lock and, a couple minutes later, the Impala's throaty roar. Sighing, Dean let the tension out of his muscles and sank gratefully into the stack of pillows Sam had fastidiously positioned for him. He closed his eyes, breathing through the ever present ache in his chest. His head was pounding, too, and he wished he could slip back into sleep and escape...everything.

Wasn't like they'd gone in unprepared. Things just...happened. Wasn't anyone's fault and wasn't anything they could have done to prevent what had happened. It sucked, of course, but they were just going to have to get past it. He was going to have to deal with the pain and his brother's worrying and Sam was going to have to deal with...everything else.

* * *

Sam stood in the middle of the aisle staring at a display of canned pumpkin.

Why he was staring at canned pumpkin, he didn't know. He couldn't remember why he'd come down this aisle in the first place. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles sent a little jolt of pain through his skull that didn't clear his vision or his mind. Blinking hard, he stared at the orange cans.

 _Why are there so many kinds? What's the difference?_

He frowned, confused as to why he couldn't move on from the canned pumpkin. Wasn't like he was going to be making a pie. Wasn't like Dean was going to be making a pie, either.

His heart flip flopped and he closed his eyes again, fisting his hands at his sides this time.

Eyes closed, all he could see was his brother's body crumpled on the cement. He'd looked almost peaceful. Like he was sleeping. There hadn't been any blood. He hadn't even had any bruising to his face; all the injuries had been hidden by his clothes and his hair.

Sam almost wished there'd been some blood.

Blood he knew how to deal with, but hidden injuries that went deep and caused internal damage, he couldn't fix.

Shaking his head, he stared at the canned pumpkin again. Why he'd even come into a grocery store was beyond him, but here he was. He'd planned to get some sandwiches from the deli across the street, but something had drawn him into the grocery store.

Wandering down the aisle, he left the pumpkin behind and found himself staring at a display of boxed stuffing and boxed mashed potatoes.

Oh. Yeah.

Thanksgiving.

 _Thanksgiving._

He pulled out his phone, automatically checking for messages first, before pulling up the calendar. Thanksgiving was _tomorrow._ The store started to close in on him, darkening and shifting, squeezing his chest and constricting his breathing.

Thanksgiving was tomorrow and he'd wanted to do something. He didn't know if special was the right word because so few things in their lives were special. Dean hadn't wanted to even discuss the topic. Had shut down the discussion every time Sam had tried to initiate one.

Sam had already resigned himself to not having a "traditional" Thanksgiving with their mother. Until Dean had been injured, he'd still held out the hope that he could at least manage some kind of celebration even if it was just the two of them. Dean was so angry, though, that it probably would have gone over like a lead balloon.

Sighing, he pulled himself together and turned away from the display.

He was thankful that Dean was alive, so maybe that was going to have to count for his Thanksgiving. Wasn't that what it was about anyway? Thankfulness?

Pausing, he watched a woman with an overflowing cart add a couple boxes of stuffing and about ten packets of instant gravy to her load. She looked stressed and harried, but was talking on her phone to someone she obviously loved.

"I know, we can't wait to see you either!" she said, smiling even as she consulted her grocery list. "It's been too long. It's going to be wonderful…"

She walked away and he lost the rest of the conversation in the muddle of the crowd.

Sam turned around and headed for the exit. He'd get them a couple sandwiches for a late lunch. Another display caught his attention and he paused. Maybe they wouldn't get a real Thanksgiving, but maybe he could do _one_ thing at least to make it nice.

After making his purchase at the grocery store and picking up sandwiches at the deli, he drove back to the hotel. He hadn't received any messages from his brother, but he hated how long he'd been gone. Dean had a habit of over exerting himself and being stupidly stubborn. All he could do was hope Dean would be hampered enough by his injuries that he'd have to take it easy whether he wanted to or not. Sam had already gotten his head bit off more times then he wanted to count. He was going to have to back off or Dean was going to throttle him.

Or make good on his promise to get in the car and drive away.

He had to fight through a throng of people in the hallway of the hotel. Apparently a big family gathering had been arranged at the hotel and he had the misfortune of having to walk straight through a million happy people.

By the time he reached their room, his nerves were shot and all he wanted to do was fall into bed and not get out for a week. That wasn't an option, of course, so he steeled himself and unlocked the door. Dean was where he'd left him, settled in bed, phone in his hand. He shifted his gaze from the tv when Sam walked in.

"Long line?" Dean asked, then immediately started coughing.

Sam locked the door behind him and nodded.

Dean's coughing fit ended with him fumbling for the bottle of water and managing a few sips. Once he was done, he set the bottle aside, then melted into the pillows again. His skin was pasty and sweat-slicked.

"You ok?" Sam asked even though he really should have known better than to ask his brother that question.

"You bring food?" Dean deflected.

Sam held up the bag. He crossed the room and offered a sandwich to his brother, waiting for the complaining to start up. _It's too plain. I'm not an invalid. You could've gotten me a burger. Fries aren't contraindicated just because I almost died._

He'd heard it all before, but this time he only received silence. If Dean was feeling too ill to even gripe and complain about the food, he was definitely not feeling well. Sam sat down at the table and unwrapped his own sandwich. He wasn't remotely interested in eating. The thought alone was turning his stomach inside out.

* * *

Dean watched his brother staring at his sandwich and almost asked what was so fascinating about it. Irritation flared, but he forced himself to shove it down. It was the pain and the exhaustion and the nightmare of all of it. He really wasn't angry with his brother. And heaven knew Sam didn't deserve any anger directed his way.

Truth be told, the pain from their mother walking out of their lives hurt more than any of the physical pain he was experiencing. Of course, Sam wanted to try to fix that, too. It set Dean's teeth on edge and, if it hadn't been for his injuries, they probably would have had an all out shouting match by now on the topic of their mother.

The mere thought of her tightened his throat.

 _And Sam wanted to host a Thanksgiving dinner and invite her over like we're some kind of normal family. We hardly count as a screwed up family. She can't even stand to be around us longer than to have a quick diner breakfast before she's off again. Quest for answers, huh? Well, she could've started by asking_ us _for some answers! We just need to face the facts. Mom isn't the same person she was when we were kids and she'd rather be anywhere but with us._

"Happy Thanksgiving," he muttered under his breath.

"Huh?" Sam glanced his way.

"Nothing. What's wrong with your sandwich?"

Sam stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head and picked up the sandwich. "It's fine. Yours?"

"It's a sandwich. Nothing special." Dean took a bite.

"If you want something else-"

Dean shook his head.

The pain was definitely making him crabby and he was beginning to get on his own nerves. Sam had to be ready to punch him. But he didn't show any irritation as he collected the trash and got the correct pills and assisted Dean to and from the bathroom.

Dean managed to hold his temper in check and the tension in the room decreased considerably. He spent the next few hours blearily watching tv while coughing and trying not to cry out from the agony in his chest. Sam forced him to use the albuterol inhaler he hadn't wanted in the first place. It helped a little, but not as much as either of them would have hoped.

He drifted in and out of sleep while Sam waited on him hand and foot. As much pain as he was in and as weak as he was, the assistance was greatly appreciated even if it bothered him to no end to need the help.

After handing Dean his latest dose of painkiller, Sam settled on the other bed, an arm thrown over his eyes. Dean took the pills, then frowned.

"Hey."

"What?" Sam didn't move.

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

Dean watched him for a moment, waiting for any elaboration. None was given though, and he had to assume Sam was just tired. They'd been up most of the night; any sleep either of them had gotten had been irregular and interrupted. Even their nap had been disturbed by his coughing.

He muffled a cough in his sleeve, then returned his attention to the television.

It was pointless, though. He was sick of watching tv and sick of being stuck without anything else _to_ do. Bored, he glanced at the table and hated that the stupid laptop was that far away. If he had the laptop he could play solitaire at least.

Glancing at Sam, he wondered if he stood any chance at all of being able to get the laptop without getting in trouble with the warden. Not that it wasn't great to have Sam helping — because he _needed_ the help — but he was ready to begin regaining his independence.

Of course, Sam wasn't completely on board with that plan.

"What do you need?" Sam asked the very instant Dean started quietly pushing the blankets aside.

Dean froze. Sam was staring at him, but hadn't made a move to sit up. Yet. His voice was weary, but Dean knew he'd be up in a heartbeat if needed.

"Nothing," Dean said, holding back a cough and rearranging the covers like that was what he'd been intending to do all along. He smiled. "I'm good."

Sam studied him and Dean tried to look healthy and like he hadn't just lied. Wasn't like it was a big deal. Sure, Sam could grab the laptop in under five seconds, but the chances of him returning to bed would be slim to none.

Dean must have looked convincing because Sam closed his eyes and put his arm back over his eyes.

Thinking longingly of the diversion the laptop would have afforded him, Dean decided he could put up with the tv for awhile longer if it would allow his brother some time to sleep. He turned the volume down a little.

"You don't have to do that."

"If you're gonna try to get some sleep, I can watch with subtitles."

"I'm not going to sleep," Sam mumbled, sounding half-asleep despite his insistence to the contrary. "And you hate subtitles."

"Yeah, well I'll make do."

For a few minutes, the room fell silent, then Dean ruined it with another coughing spell. He fumbled for the bottle of water Sam always had sitting on the nightstand for him and took a sip. It helped soothe the cough but didn't do much for the pain in his chest.

"Should use the pillow."

Putting the bottle back on the nightstand, Dean pressed his arms around the pillow he was supposed to use to brace his chest while he coughed. It did help when he used it, he just tended to be too wrapped up in _ow, this hurts, someone please kill me now_ to worry about reaching for a pillow. He coughed a couple more times, then his breathing evened out again. Glancing at his brother, he wasn't surprised to see Sam studying him again; clearly trying to make the decision if he needed to get up or not.

"I'm _fine_ ," he said, even if his voice made it sound like he'd been smoking a carton a day for a thousand years. "You gotta stop worrying—"

"Would you?"

"What?"

"Would _you_ stop worrying?" Sam rubbed his eyes, then stared up at the ceiling, his hands resting on his chest.

"Well, no. But—"

"So don't ask me to stop worrying."

Dean sighed, shaking his head; frustration and appreciation flowing through him in equal measures. "Sam, look. I get it. And I do appreciate all your help, ok? I'm sorry I've been a jerk. But I'm doing better and I actually can manage to do a few things on my own without you hovering constantly."

Sam's features tightened and Dean knew all he was hearing was _you're driving me insane with your never-ending attempts to take care of me._

Shaking his head again, Dean said, "Just…will you try to get some sleep? I'm not going to do anything but sit here and watch tv."

He didn't get a reply, but didn't get an argument, either. After a moment, Sam closed his eyes. Dean watched him a little longer, then tried to focus his attention on the tv. It was a commercial break and his mouth started watering at an advertisement for turkey. The next commercial was for the Thanksgiving parade and it hit him that Thanksgiving was tomorrow.

 _Huh._

Carefully, so as to not arouse the brother-hen lying on the other bed, he looked at his phone. Sure enough, the calendar said tomorrow was Thanksgiving. The calendar said tomorrow was Thanksgiving and he had no voicemails or missed calls or text messages from their mother which meant she obviously cared as much about the holiday as he did. The ugly resentment deep in his gut twisted and he let the phone drop to the bed next to him. It had been a week and she hadn't contacted either of them. Not once.

Which was fine — or at least he tried to tell himself it was fine. Tried to convince himself he didn't care about how little _she_ seemed to care about them. Tried to convince himself there wasn't even the _tiniest_ bit of him that had secretly held out the hope of them getting to be a family again despite her walking out on them. But she'd worked the case with them like she was any other hunter. She'd eaten breakfast with them and tried not to let it show how much she wanted to get back on the road. To get away from them.

And then she'd driven away and not told them exactly where she was going or when they'd hear from her next.

"I just thought it could be nice, you know?"

Dean frowned, glancing at his brother. Sam was staring at the tv. _So much for sleeping._ "What are you talking about?"

Sam motioned to the tv.

Yet another Thanksgiving-themed commercial was playing now. One showing a happy family gathered around an overflowing table. Dean's heart dropped. He'd had no interest in the holiday, much less entertained any notions of celebrating traditionally with their mom, but Sam had. The heartwarming scene playing out before their eyes was everything they'd never gotten and never would.

It stoked the fire within Dean as he wondered why exactly their mom couldn't have tried just a little harder. Why she didn't want to get to know them, even a little. Why she'd rather be hunting across the country rather than joining them for a Thanksgiving meal.

Maybe she hadn't looked at a calendar.

Probably she just didn't care.

Not like he'd cared, either, but someone _did_ care.

"I'm sorry," Dean said softly. He really was.

"Not your fault."

Technically, it _was_ his fault they were holed up in this hotel room. He'd been the one who pushed for the hunt. He'd known Sam had wanted to do something for Thanksgiving and he'd pushed against it and here they were. Him in pieces, Sam flat out exhausted, and no turkey anywhere in sight. Even if their mom hadn't wanted to be involved, he could have at least gotten a turkey and made some stuffing.

He could've done that much.

"I just wanted to know what it felt like," Sam said, his eyes closed again. "What it would have felt like to have her there. To have a Thanksgiving dinner with her. It's stupid, I know."

Dean gritted his teeth. It _wasn't_ stupid, not really. But, on the other hand, it was kind of stupid to think they'd ever get even that much normal in their lives. It just shouldn't have been stupid to hope that their mom might want to spend time with them.

Sam rolled over and buried his face in a pillow before Dean could think of anything to say.

 _Conversation over._

Dean glared at the tv even though some police procedural was on now instead of Thanksgiving commercials. He looked at the clock. Late. Later than he'd realized. Late enough they wouldn't be driving home today. The thought of driving home on Thanksgiving kind of sucked. The thought of getting back to the Bunker with its empty kitchen shelves on Thanksgiving sucked even more.

There wasn't anything at home he could even throw together into a sorry excuse for a Thanksgiving dinner. Even if he felt up to something like that. Which he was pretty sure he didn't. All in all, he'd screwed things up big time.

He looked at his phone again and debated calling their mother.

What would he say though?

 _Hey Mom, you think you could spare the time to pretend you care enough about us to come to Thanksgiving dinner?_

That would work well, he was sure. Probably make things worse. They hadn't invited her so she hadn't (technically) turned them down. Hadn't (technically) rejected them.

 _Technically._

Dean felt rejected though and he was pretty sure that was exactly what Sam was feeling, too. Angry words floated through his mind. Words he wanted to shout at their mother. Things he'd never dreamed he'd _want_ to shout at her.

Never dreamed he'd have reason to shout at her.

But she wasn't the mom he'd known as a kid. The mom he thought he remembered. He wasn't sure she'd ever existed. Not now, not knowing she'd been hunting even after he'd been born. She wasn't anything like what he'd remembered. Nothing like what Sam had imagined.

It _hurt._

Her rejection hurt him, but seeing what it was doing to his brother was _killing_ him.

Dean grabbed his phone. He brought up a text message and spent the next ten minutes typing out furious, angry, near-hateful words that he deleted again and again. Each time he finished a message, he deleted everything and started again. It wasn't accomplishing anything, but it made him feel better somehow.

When he'd worn out some of his fury, he lowered the phone and checked his brother. From all appearances, Sam had finally fallen asleep. His breathing was easy and the tension had eased out of his posture.

Looking longingly at the laptop again, Dean knew he'd never be able to get it without disturbing his brother. So he lifted his phone again and started searching for ideas. There wasn't a whole lot he could do considering he was laid up, but maybe he could figure _something_ out.

If Sam needed their mom and needed a Thanksgiving dinner, Dean was going to do whatever he could to make something happen.

 _to be continued..._

* * *

 _ **Thank you for reading! Only one more chapter...we'll see if Dean can pull something off or not. ;)**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy Thanksgiving! Whether you're celebrating Thanksgiving day, I'm sure we'd all agree there is much to be thankful for. :) Hoping for all the best for each of you!**

* * *

 _ **Thankful**_

 _Chapter Three_

* * *

Sam woke up to his brother calling his name. He shifted, trying to drag himself out of the depths of sleep. Chilled and a little confused, he pushed himself over onto his side and forced his eyes open. Dean was sitting on the edge of the other bed, looking at him. He didn't look like he was in any distress.

"What's…wrong?" Sam asked, yawning.

"Nothing." Dean smiled, tapping his watch. "It's getting late. I'm hungry. And if you sleep any longer, you're not going to sleep at all tonight."

"And that would be different from last night how?" Sam pulled his pillow closer even though he knew he should sit up and figure something out for supper.

Dean laughed, then coughed, then cursed.

"Pillow," Sam muttered for the thousandth time since they'd left the hospital. Dean glared at him and didn't grab the pillow. "What are you hungry for?"

"I was thinking pizza."

"Sounds great."

Sounded amazing, actually, because he could order it from his bed and have it delivered straight to the door.

"Good," Dean said, "because it's going to be here in like five minutes so get up and try to make yourself look human so you can answer the door.

"You ordered a pizza?"

Dean snorted. "Don't act so surprised. I do know how to order pizza."

"Yeah, I know... I just didn't hear you call." Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Didn't call," Dean said, grinning. He held up his phone. "Did it all on the app!"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? You used an app?"

Dean's grin faded and he glared.

"Sorry." Sam held up his hands. He crossed the room and looked through his wallet, hoping he had enough cash.

"What are you doing?"

"Paying for the pizza?"

"Paid." Dean waved his phone. "On the app."

"Ah. Ok. Good." Sam shook his head and dropped his wallet. "Didn't have enough cash, anyway."

Dean started to say something but was interrupted by a knock on the door. He grinned again and motioned rapidly, saying, "Go. Pizza. Now."

Sam rolled his eyes. Like the pizza guy was gonna turn tail and run before he could get to the door. He hurried, though, because Dean was coughing and exerting himself and that was so not how Sam wanted the evening to go. Dean was sitting up of his own volition, was in a good mood, and had ordered pizza. On an _app._ Things were looking up.

Once he'd received the pizza, he turned around and found his brother struggling to get to his feet.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Sam asked, quickly putting the pizza on the table and going to his brother's aid.

Dean waved a hand toward the table, huffed and puffed, then said, "Gonna sit up for awhile."

"Fine, but take it slower. No rush."

"It's getting cold."

Sam gritted his teeth, assisting his brother to the chair. He didn't know if Dean was being purposefully obstinate or if he was just that hungry for hot pizza. Either way, he was moving like an arthritic old man and wheezing like a freight train.

Once he was settled in the chair, Sam went for a couple bottles of water. Dean had opened the pizza box and was already lifting a slice out. Sam set the water on the table and tossed Dean a left over napkin from their sandwiches earlier. He sat down across from him.

"You feeling any better?"

Dean shrugged. Mouth full of pizza, he said, "Made it out of bed."

"That is an improvement." Sam smiled a little.

"I'll be good as new in the morning," Dean insisted before breaking out into a coughing fit.

Once the coughing had died down, Sam said, "Maybe not good as new."

"Maybe not quite." Dean grabbed the bottle of water with a badly shaking hand and took a sip.

Sam sighed and reached for a slice of pizza even though he really wasn't hungry. It did taste good, though, and seeing his brother with an appetite again did wonders for his own. They didn't talk while they ate; Dean was too short of breath just from chewing and Sam couldn't think of anything to say.

By the time they'd finished half the pizza, Dean looked worn out and tired. Sam went for the pills. So far he had kept his brother on schedule and he had no interest in messing that up. Dean was miserable enough as it was.

Dean took the pills without argument, then rested his chin on his hand, staring blankly at the far wall.

"What's up?" Sam asked after another silent minute passed.

"Nothing."

"Yeah. That's convincing."

Dean sighed. He leaned back in the chair and drummed his fingers on the table.

"Dean?"

"It's…I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sam frowned, using a napkin to mop up a grease drip on the table.

Dean shook his head and started pushing himself to his feet. He slowly made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Sam closed the pizza box and tossed the napkin into the trash can. Wouldn't do him any good to push his brother; either Dean would explain what he meant or he wouldn't. The important thing was that he seemed to be doing a little better.

Massaging his temples, he closed his eyes and tried to calculate how far they were from the Bunker. Dean would be chomping at the bit to get on the road now that he was showing even the slightest bit of improvement.

Whether or not it was a good idea to try to drive home, Sam wasn't sure. What he _was_ sure about was the fact that he was going to lose any battle he tried to wage against his brother on the topic. It would probably be best for both of them if he went along with whatever Dean wanted to do and then put his foot down later if he thought they needed to stop again before getting home.

He thought about the fact it was Thanksgiving tomorrow and they had nothing at home to eat. Dean probably wouldn't feel up to eating at a diner so they were going to have to pick something up on their way home or else he'd have to go out again once he got Dean settled.

Neither option thrilled him, but there wasn't exactly a third.

Twenty minutes later and they were both settling into bed. Dean was watching the end of some obscure horror flick. His eyes were glazed and he was yawning near constantly, but refused to turn the tv off until the end of the movie. Sam rolled over and buried his face in a pillow. He had no interest in the movie.

"I'm sorry about Mom," Dean said, softly when the channel went to a commercial break.

Sam shifted so he could see his brother. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you had this whole Thanksgiving thing you wanted to do—"

"Dean, it's not a big deal, ok? I just thought it might be nice, but it was stupid."

"That's the second time you've said that." Dean sounded angry. He turned the tv off leaving the room lit only from what little light showed around the thick, dark blinds. "You're wrong. It's not stupid."

Sam couldn't see his brother's expression. He closed his eyes and said, "It's not a big deal."

"It is to me."

"Why?"

"Because-" he broke off, coughing harshly. Clearing his throat, he said, "It's a big deal because she's our mom. It's not stupid to want to spend Thanksgiving with Mom."

Sam sighed. He had as much interest in this conversation as he'd had in watching the movie.

"I know you need Mom —"

"I don't need Mom," Sam interrupted quickly, "I need you. And you're alive, so that's the important thing."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable; it was stunned.

Sam had meant every word, but wasn't sure if had come across too harsh. Dean was struggling badly with their mom's decisions, but Sam wasn't sure how he was going to take such a blunt statement.

 _I don't need Mom._

Maybe he could have found a better way to put it. Found a way to smooth it out so it didn't sound like he was rejecting her the way she'd rejected them. Staring into the darkness, he waited to see what Dean was going to say.

Dean started to say something, but stopped to cough. Once he was finished, he said, "You're right."

"I am?"

"Yeah. We _don't_ need her." Dean didn't sound angry. Didn't even sound sad. He sounded _certain._ "We've made it our entire lives without her. If she wants to work a case together or stop by the Bunker, that's fine. But you're right. I don't need Mom. I need you."

Sam closed his eyes and tried to wrap his head around what his brother had just said. Sure, he'd said the same thing, but to hear his brother say something like that was a bit of a shocker. He wasn't sure what the appropriate response was.

Dean shifted around, undoubtedly trying to get comfortable, then said, "I'll try not to wake us up tonight."

"Yeah, try to keep the hacking down," Sam said, looking at his brother's shape. "It's really obnoxious."

"You're obnoxious."

Sam smiled at the lame comeback.

* * *

The shower was running when Dean woke up. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the time. Early. No surprise there. They'd at least managed to sleep a little better than they'd slept the night before. The coughing had been better controlled and he had actually been more tired than he'd been in pain for once.

He shifted, glancing around the room. Sam had been busy which meant he had been up quite awhile. Their gear was mostly packed and neatly settled on the edge of Sam's bed. Dean hadn't heard him doing any of that which meant he'd been sleeping _very_ soundly.

Grabbing his phone, he pushed himself up against the pillows; gratified that he was able to do it on his own without feeling like he was being stabbed through the chest. It was only a little after six in the morning — a little too early to be thinking about stuff like Thanksgiving dinner, but it _was_ Thanksgiving so he didn't have a lot of time to spare. Thanks to a commercial yesterday, he knew a local store was selling prepared Thanksgiving dinners.

Thanks to the magic of the internet, he managed to order just before the cut off time. It wasn't the fanciest meal they offered, but it would be more than adequate for the two of them. Sliced turkey, some ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, even some cranberry sauce. Not too bad.

Smiling, he was about to pocket his phone when the thought that maybe he should text their mom crossed his mind. His mood took a hit and that was how he determined that calling their mom was _not_ something he was going to do. If she didn't want to talk to them on Thanksgiving, so be it. He wasn't going to press the issue.

The shower turned off as he was turning the tv on. It was early, but he wasn't going to miss the parade. It had been years since the last time he'd seen the parade and it seemed fitting that they indulge if they were going to be staying put and having a pseudo-Thanksgiving party.

Dean was contemplating what he wanted for breakfast when Sam finally stepped out of the shower.

"Morning," Sam said, grabbing a shirt out of his bag. "Didn't expect you to be awake yet. You sleep alright?"

"You tell me. I don't remember waking up fifty times. Did I wake you up?"

Sam sat down on the edge of his bed and reached for his boots. He said, "I don't think so."

"Good."

"Yeah. So, you want breakfast or just get it on the way?"

Dean had been waiting for this moment. Been expecting Sam to expect _him_ to be in a hurry to get on the road. Because up until yesterday, that's exactly what he would have done. Rush them out the door and push for a quick trip home.

"If you want to go grab breakfast, there's a diner up the street that's open. I checked online."

"Ok I'll bring something back and you can get ready while I'm gone, then we can go whenever you're ready." Sam had his boots on and was grabbing his coat and the keys.

"Sounds good." Dean smiled, deciding not to bring up his plan until Sam got back from the diner.

"Anything sound good?" Sam asked, pulling his coat on.

"Pancakes."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"And eggs. Scrambled. Bacon. Hashbrowns."

"Uh huh."

"Orange juice. And coffee!"

"Of course."

Dean waved his hand. "Go."

"Bossy." Sam paused with his hand on the door knob. "You need anything before I leave?"

"Nope."

"Alright. I'll be back. Keep your phone with you."

He slammed the door before Dean could reply.

Once Sam was gone, Dean pushed himself out of bed. He managed a quick shower that left him breathless from coughing. He was wiped out. Without bothering to shave, he carefully made his way back to bed without falling over. He'd never hear the end of it if he fell over and he was dizzy enough it was a good possibility.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping from the bottle of water when he heard the key card in the lock. The smell of breakfast wafted in as Sam struggled through the door with his arms full.

Dean made his way to the table, clearing a few things off so Sam could set their breakfast down.

"Looks good," he said, unpacking the food while Sam pulled the coffee cups from the drink carrier.

"Hope so. Smells good." Sam sat down across from him.

"Pancakes are great," Dean said around a mouthful.

Sam rolled his eyes, taking a sip of coffee. After they'd been eating for a few minutes, Sam asked, "I figure we'll make it home by early afternoon. I can run to the store afterwards."

"Or we can just stay here and take it easy another day."

Sam almost choked on his coffee. He sputtered, then shook his head and asked, "Do you feel worse?"

 _I knew that was what he was going to think._ Dean smiled and said, "I feel fine."

"Then why…I mean, I just figured you'd want to—"

"Get on the road as soon as possible?"

"Yeah."

Dean nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He motioned to the tv. "We'll miss the parade if we go."

Sam followed his gaze, eyebrows rising.

"What?" Dean shrugged.

"You wanna watch a parade?"

"Sure. Why not. It's Thanksgiving."

"But we—"

"I know we don't," Dean interrupted, "but maybe this time we can make an exception, huh?"

Sam was still looking at him like he thought he was crazy, but said, "We can. If that's what you want to do."

Dean nodded.

"Ok." Sam smiled. "I'll have to see about getting the room for another night."

"Already did."

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"An app?"

"No, I actually had to go old school. I called down to the front desk," Dean said, pouring some more syrup onto his pancakes.

"Well that's a relief, actually. You were starting to get a good grasp of technology. You get too good and I won't have a job anymore."

Dean shook his head, licking syrup off his finger. "Oh, no. You're not getting out of it. You're still research central. I'm just backup."

"Uh huh."

By the time they were finished eating, Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't have wanted to drive home anyway. He was already longing for a nap. Leaving Sam to clean up the mess, Dean made his way slowly back to the bed.

Sam dealt with the trash, then moved everything off of his bed, kicked off his boots and flopped face first onto the mattress.

Dean frowned. "You alright?"

"Mmhmm. Wake me up for the parade."

"Ok." Dean settled back against his pillows and asked, "You sure you're -"

"We're not going home yet," Sam mumbled, turning his head so his voice wasn't completely muffled by the pillow. "Couple hours till the parade. I'm tired, man."

The honesty was a surprise, but Dean didn't comment. He was relieved Sam wasn't trying to pretend he was completely fine. It had been a long week, a rough week for both of them. Watching his brother relax and drift back to sleep told him he'd made the right decision in staying put for another day.

* * *

Sam had been shocked when Dean had decided to stay for another day rather than driving home. At first concerned, he'd been relieved when he'd discovered Dean wasn't feeling worse, just wanting to take it easy. It wasn't a bad thing at all. In all honesty, even though he _could_ drive all the way home, he was glad he didn't have to.

He'd managed to catch an hour long nap before Dean woke him up with a pillow-smack to his butt. When he'd asked to be awakened in time for the parade, that hadn't been what he'd meant. It had been effective, though. He'd sat up and Dean had turned the volume up on the TV and they'd been watching ever since.

He tuned back into his brother's complaining.

"I don't know any of these people," Dean said for what had to have been the tenth time.

"Yeah. Because you don't listen to any music from the last three decades. You could branch out, you know?"

Dean sneered at the thought. He waved a hand at the tv. "I'm not branching out to _this."_

Sam didn't really want his brother branching out into whatever _this_ was, but said, "You have to have a more open mind."

"Whatever. I'll keep my classic rock, thanks."

Sam just smiled and ignored the next round of griping. It was good to hear Dean feeling up to complaining. It was good to see him looking a little more lively; a little stronger. He still was too pale, but wasn't coughing as much as he had been and the pain didn't seem to be bothering him as much, either.

Watching the parade while munching on vending machine popcorn and sharing a bag of M&Ms, the tension of the past week melted away. Even the sting of their mom walking out on them didn't hurt the way it had. She hadn't called him back and he hadn't bothered to call her again, but really didn't even care at this point.

Dean was alive and mouthing off about everything and nothing as he watched the parade. This time there were no visible scars to give testament to what he'd just lived through. It was easy to pretend he was just recovering from the flu or something rather than having survived severe chest trauma and a collapsed lung.

"So the game's on after this," Dean said when the channel switched to a commercial.

"The Lions?"

"Always." Dean grinned. "It wouldn't be Thanksgiving if the Lions weren't playing."

"You mean losing."

"Hey, they win sometimes. Besides, it's a tradition!"

Sam laughed at the thought of his brother knowing anything about traditions associated with Thanksgiving. Of course he'd know about the football tradition, though. Dean started quoting stats and names and Sam wondered how his brother knew all that stuff. He didn't ask though, just listened indulgently.

When the game came on, Sam realized he hadn't given any thought to lunch. _Great._ He glanced at the time. It was going to be slim pickings on Thanksgiving. He wished he'd been smart enough to have grabbed something yesterday. Even some sliced turkey for sandwiches would be better than nothing. He was going to be bringing back crappy fast food most likely and that just didn't seem very festive.

"What's the matter?" Dean asked.

"Just thinking I should go find something for lunch."

"I am getting hungry."

"I don't know how," Sam said, motioning to the empty bags of popcorn and candy. "You've been eating almost continuously since seven."

"Well, I'm making up for lost time. I'm healing, Sammy. Means I need to eat more."

"Pretty sure you're supposed to eat more protein, not candy."

"Bacon's protein!"

Sam rolled his eyes, reaching for his boots. "I'm not sure what will be open, but I'm going to go find something."

He hadn't even managed to get his boots on before there was a knock at the door. Dropping his boot, he frowned and asked, "You did pay for another day, right?"

"Yes." Dean grinned, looking oddly excited. "Go get the door. They're not evicting us."

"If you say so," Sam said doubtfully. He crossed the room and pulled the door open.

"Happy Thanksgiving," a kid in his late teens called out. He held out a cardboard box. "Here you go."

"Uh…Happy Thanksgiving." Sam took the box. "What's all this?"

"Your order." The kid handed over a bag as well. "Enjoy."

And then he was gone and Sam was standing in the doorway with a box full of food.

"What are you doing? Bring it here," Dean called. "Let's eat!"

Sam turned and found Dean sitting at the table. He was beckoning with both hands. Kicking the door closed, Sam took the box to the table.

"What is all this? I don't understand—"

"It's Thanksgiving dinner." Dean opened the box. "I ordered it."

"You what?"

Dean grinned. "I ordered it. Place in town. Saw a commercial yesterday for their Thanksgiving special."

"Wow. I can't believe they had any food left _for_ you to order," Sam said, pulling a few plastic tubs out of the bag. "And I can't believe you ordered this."

"I am not completely inept, you know?" Dean rolled his eyes. He set out two paper plates.

"I know that." Sam opened the first container. Steaming hot mashed potatoes. "I just didn't think you'd…I don't know, bother, I guess. Like, why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you order all this? I would've just gotten us—"

"A crappy turkey sandwich. Probably on stale bread." Shaking his head, Dean stabbed a portion of turkey from a package and dropped it on Sam's plate. "This is so much better."

Sam couldn't disagree. He stared at the spread. Turkey, potatoes, stuffing, gravy, biscuits, even cranberry sauce, a fruit salad, green beans and corn. It was the nicest Thanksgiving dinner they'd ever had.

"It's a lot better than a turkey sandwich," Sam acknowledged, passing his brother the mashed potatoes.

"You're welcome." Dean was smug as he dumped a mountain of potatoes onto his plate.

"Seriously, man, thanks. This is great."

"I just figured it was, you know, time."

"Time?"

"Time for us to have a real Thanksgiving." Pouring gravy on his mashed potatoes, Dean said, "I know you thought it would be great to have Thanksgiving with mom, but honestly? I would have hated it. This…this I like."

"I do too."

Dean smiled, turning the sound up on the tv in time for the crowd to break out shouting enthusiastically.

"You're gonna watch that while we eat?" Sam asked, loading his plate with cranberry sauce.

"Yeah. It's a tradition. Families everywhere are stuffing their faces with, well, with stuffing as they watch this game. Arguing, shouting, throwing food probably." Dean shrugged, adding a generous heap of stuffing to his plate.

"Isn't the point of Thanksgiving to be thankful? To enjoy the company of your family?"

Dean smothered a cough, then said, "No, Sam, Thanksgiving is about eating too much, fighting about football, and hating your family."

"That's really negative. I think you're missing the point." Sam shook his head as Dean completely ignored him as he yelled at the tv, arguing with the ref.

Sam turned his attention to his food. If Dean was going to embrace the football part, he was going to embrace the food and _thankfulness_ side of things. The food was a complete surprise; a really nice one. And he _was_ thankful.

Thankful that his brother was alive to entirely miss the point of what Thanksgiving was all about.

A commercial break came on and Dean shifted in his seat and said, "If it's any consolation, I won't throw food. And I don't hate you, so you've got that going for you."

Sam laughed. "Oh good. I was worrying about that."

"But I don't promise to not argue with you about the game." Dean waved a stuffing-covered fork.

"No arguing here. We're rooting for Detroit, right?"

"Of course. I mean, they suck. A lot. But it's Thanksgiving. So you kind of have to root for them."

 _If you say so_ , Sam thought. He didn't really care either way, but if Dean said root for the Lions, root for the Lions he would.

* * *

"That was amazing," Sam said, his plate practically licked clean.

Dean smiled, glad that his surprise had gone over so well. Sam had been suitably shocked by the food appearing on their doorstep. It had been the highlight of the week, actually. The fact they both had an appetite again was good, too.

"It was amazing" Dean nodded, looking over the spread.

They'd made a pretty good dent in it. Well, _Sam_ had made a pretty good dent anyway. Dean had made a small-ish dent. Eating was hard work and he'd eaten slowly and taken plenty of breaks as he'd worked his way through his portion. Sam had eaten like he hadn't seen food in an entire week.

"You didn't order dessert?" Sam asked, looking in the box.

Dean's mood darkened a little. "And that would be the bad thing about ordering for Thanksgiving _on_ Thanksgiving."

"Ah." Sam nodded. "Well the fruit salad could count for dessert, right?"

"Absolutely not."

Sam laughed, then stood up. He put his boots on and grabbed the car keys.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, surprised.

"Be right back," was the only answer he got.

The door closed behind Sam and Dean would have guessed Sam was going to raid the vending machine again but he'd taken the car keys. So he was going somewhere. Looking for dessert?

"Good luck with that." He snorted. "No pie left in town."

He started boxing up the leftovers, considering making the trek to the mini-fridge to store it all away. The fridge was so far away, though, and technically he had very nearly died, so he shouldn't technically have to be on clean up duty. At least not for another day or two. So he just sat there and waited for his brother's return

It took less than five minutes before Sam was back. he walked into the room with a paper bag in his arms.

"What is that?" Dean asked even though he knew he only had to wait a few more seconds before he'd find out anyway.

Sam smiled, glanced into the bag, then handed it over. He stepped back, looking a little uncertain.

Dean looked in and his jaw dropped. He pulled out a gorgeous blueberry pie. Setting it on the table, he looked back in the bag and found a pumpkin pie. The last pie he pulled out was apple.

He met his brother's gaze and asked, "How in the world did you—"

"Got them yesterday when I was at the store." Sam shrugged, sitting back down. "Just thought maybe you'd want some pie."

"I can't believe they had any pie left!" Dean lifted the lid of the pumpkin pie.

"I only had to fight off two little old ladies to get them."

Dean glanced up, narrowing his eyes.

Sam laughed. "Dude, I'm kidding."

"Huh. If you say so." He accepted the knife Sam offered and cut the pie. "You want pumpkin or a different one?"

"Pumpkin is good."

"Too bad we don't have any —" he broke off as Sam left the table and went to the fridge. "Redi-whip!"

"Pie without Redi-whip?" Sam shook the bottle. "That would be a disaster."

Dean nodded, allowing his brother to provide a generous dollop on top of his pie.

"Thanks," he said, pointing his fork at his plate.

"No problem." Sam smiled, taking a bite of his own piece.

They finished their pie while watching the rest of the game. By the time the game was over, they were both falling asleep at the table.

"So I take it, traditional Thanksgiving is saved?" Sam asked, fighting off a yawn as they watched the after-game celebrations. "Lions win. You got pie. Not too bad, right?"

"No food fight."

"Do people really have food fights on Thanksgiving?" Sam asked, skeptical as ever.

"How would I know?" Dean held his hands up. "This is the first Thanksgiving I've celebrated since we were kids."

"It was a good one to celebrate."

Pushing himself to his feet, Dean braced a hand against his chest as he made his way to his bed. "Why's that?"

"You're alive."

He was ready with a smart alec remark because he'd been expecting an answer like that, but he held back. For one thing, _he_ was kind of thankful to be alive. For another thing, it was nice to know someone was thankful he wasn't cold and dead on a slab in a morgue somewhere.

Sitting down on his bed, his chest throbbing with every breath, he watched Sam neatly repackaging the pumpkin pie in its box. It would probably be nice of him to say something about how thankful he was that Sam was around to buy him pie. To buy him pie and give him the right medications and sit up with him at all hours of the night so he didn't _die._ To put up with his lousy attitude when the pain had gotten the better of him.

All in all, he did have a lot to be thankful for even if he hadn't been in the slightest interested in celebrating the holiday.

It had been a good ending to a bad week.

Instead of saying any of what he was thinking, though, he bossed his brother around and whined about the pillows and complained about the pain. Sam patiently gave him the right pills, got him comfortable, and handed him the remote.

Sam's phone rang and they glanced at each other.

"Probably Jody," Sam said, looking oddly guilty.

Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to puzzle out why Sam was looking guilty.

"Hi, Mom." Sam met his gaze again. Now he just looked surprised. "Yeah, uh, how's it going?"

Dean wanted his brother to turn it on speaker phone, but also didn't. He watched Sam's expression for clues as to what their mom was saying.

"Yeah, ok. Good."

Waving a hand, Dean caught his attention and mouthed _What's she saying?_

Sam shook his head. "Ok. No, we're good. You want to—"

Dean shook his head even harder than Sam had shaken his. He did _not_ want to talk to her. Thankfully, apparently she didn't want to talk to him much either, because she kept talking to Sam and he just shrugged.

"Ok." Sam sat down on the other bed. "Sure. Ok, just let us— yeah, ok."

There was a moment of silence where Sam listened to whatever their mom was saying, then he hung up.

"How'd that go?" Dean asked, more than a little irritated.

Sam shrugged, tossing the phone to the other side of the bed. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling and said, "She's fine. Hunt went well. She thinks she has—"

"A lead on something else, I know, I know," Dean interrupted. "She doesn't even know it's Thanksgiving, does she?"

"No. She asked how we were doing—"

"Huh. You called her, didn't you?"

"What?" Sam didn't move, didn't stop his analysis of the ceiling.

"You called her. Before now. You called her when you thought I was dying."

Sam sighed.

"I told you not to."

"Yeah, well by the time you told me not to, I already _had."_

"You tell her—"

"I didn't say anything, ok? I just left a message full of absolutely nothing. I didn't….when she didn't answer, I didn't know what to say, ok?"

Dean gritted his teeth, hating the obvious distress the decision had put his brother through. He stared at the tv; another football game was playing, but he'd lost interest.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" He turned to look at his brother.

Sam pushed himself up onto an elbow and shoved a pile of pillows behind himself. "We don't need her."

"No, we don't."

"This was a good Thanksgiving." Sam smiled, leaning back against the pillows. "A really good one."

Dean relaxed a little. "It was, wasn't it?"

Sam nodded.

"So."

"What?" Sam tilted his head.

"So, other than me being alive, which you know is the only thing that really matters, what are you thankful for, Sammy?"

Sam laughed, closing his eyes.

"Seriously."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, incredulous. "You want to act like a couple of kindergartners at show and tell time?"

"Sure. Why not? I'm not drunk, but I'm kind of high on painkillers and pie." Dean grinned and pulled a spare pillow over his chest. "Indulge me."

Sam laughed again, then said, "Ok, so, not counting you being alive, I'm thankful we got to have an actual, decent Thanksgiving meal together."

"You're welcome. I am brilliant, aren't I?"

"You're big-headed is what you are."

"Hush."

"What are you thankful for?" Sam asked, staring at the football game.

 _I'm thankful you're alive, too. That we've made it this far. That we get along. That you have my back. That I can count on you no matter what._

 _I'm thankful for_ you.

But, of course, those words refused to come out of his mouth. Instead, he said, "I'm thankful you were smart enough to pick up some pies."

"You're welcome." Sam rolled onto his side and pulled his pillow closer. He closed his eyes.

"Are you going to sleep?"

"Yeah. Tryptophan coma," Sam mumbled. "You need anything?"

"I don't need anything although I might have a slice of blueberry pie soon." Dean turned the sound down on the tv. "I'll wake you up when I want that slice."

"Uh huh. You do that."

"Go to sleep."

"Mmhm."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Sammy," Dean said softly.

He watched the football game for a few more minutes, but couldn't keep his eyes open. Turning the tv off, he pulled a blanket up over himself and decided maybe passing out from a tryptophan coma wasn't the worst thing in the world to do on a Thanksgiving afternoon.

It was actually kind of traditional.

They'd had the pie, the turkey, the parade, the football game. Might as well have the nap too. Afterwards, they'd have leftovers to look forward to and probably some sappy Christmas movie to watch.

Not a bad Thanksgiving at all.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed!**

 **If you are celebrating Thanksgiving, don't eat too much pie. ;)**

 **and GO LIONS! (yes, they're my hometown team; lousy as they are I can't help but root for them lol).**

 **Many Blessings!**


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